


Will I Wake

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Post Reichenbach, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds himself alone and doing the unthinkable. The wake-up call moment that brings him back to his therapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will I Wake

John held the gun in shaking fingers. It was the only thing he'd kept after everything that had happened. He hadn't stepped back into the flat since that day. Sure, he'd visited Mrs. Hudson. And she still came here, all the way on the other side of the city. “To check up on him,” she'd said.

Looking at the gun held in his loose grip, John had a feeling she was right to. He couldn't remember if he kept it loaded or not. He couldn't remember and he still hadn't bothered to check. If he had, well, he didn't dwell too much on that. Not like it would matter much to him afterward at any rate. If it wasn't, then, well, he'd find himself sitting here still, limp in his leg, tremor in his hand.

He brought it up, cradling the barrel in his left hand. It was his best friend now, the only thing he had left. Sherlock was gone, the legacy marred by filth and lies spread by Moriarty. And John found himself tarnished as well. Too famous to find small jobs, no sources of income to speak of other than what he'd had before-

It was as though he was in a dream, as if that was all Sherlock had ever been. A blissful dream where John was healed and whole again. Where he mattered in the universe. And Sherlock's fall was the waking moment where his mind realized it was all made up, it was all a lie. None of that existed, he was just back in his little one room flat, holding a gun, back where he had been two years ago, before he met that wonderful genius of a man.

He hadn't even realized he had moved the gun. Tears streaming down his face, he hardly felt the barrel pressed against the side of his bed when he pulled the trigger.

It took him a moment to realize there was no bang, he was still sitting here, chest heaving, desolate enough he had actually tried to kill himself.

\- - -

Later that night, the gun found itself at the bottom of the river, and John found himself calling an almost forgotten number, leaving a message on a familiar voice mail, asking for an appointment. 

He didn't notice the cameras watching him, and even if he had, they wouldn't have surprised him. What would have surprised him was the man on the other side, watching with a look between heartbreak and pride, hand clenched around bullets that would find themselves scattered in the river by morning. Bullets that, unknown to him, had only been stolen from his gun the day before.

“Be strong, John. I'll come back to you one day.”


End file.
